The Overcomers
by ISJ
Summary: D finds himself of particular use to a wandering group of dhampires in search of a way to become human. But there are many who are intent on seeing their mission end in failure...or worse.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Vampire Hunter D/Little Vampire crossover. D finds himself of particular use to a wandering group of dhampires in search of a way to become human. But there are many who are intent on seeing their mission end in failure...or worse.

Disclaimer: Neither _Vampire Hunter D_ nor _The Little Vampire_ belong to me. I am making no money from this fanfiction, and all recognizable characters, events, and locations belong to their respective copyright holders. All original characters, etc. belong to ISJ, and are not to be used without my permission.

Caveats: Rating is PG-13 for violence, romance, and adult themes. Also, be aware that this is a sequel to a work I haven't even written, let alone published. Yes, I know, bad ISJ (slaps wrists). However, you won't be missing anything by not having seen that story--or by not having seen _The Little Vampire_, for that matter. Ninety-eight percent of this fic is good ol' VHD, with just a kind of vague reference to _Little Vampire_.

Slainte, and enjoy!

ISJ

**The Overcomers**

by ISJ

Chapter 1

Time is an unstoppable force. Such is the rule of existence on this earth. Other, many other, rules may be cheated, bent, even broken. But time is unchangeable.  
  
Time is the thing that eats and decays and wearies. Never does it renew or replenish; rather, it is bent on spending itself and destroying those who are chained by it. Rarely is it a friend to those who need it, and even more seldom does it happen to flow in the way they want. Its utter indifference to the beings it controls and its imperviousness to their whims and pleas makes it the worst of all foes. It is the herald of change, the keeper of circumstance, and the advent of death.  
  
And yet, despite the infinite uniformity of time and the impossibility of its alteration, a few there are who seem not to play by its rules. They appear to hoodwink the hands of time by holding them still in their courses. These are the most envied, though not the most enviable, of all creatures. Human, they are not, for humans are irrevocably bound by the passage of the years and aren't usually strong or smart enough to throw off these bonds. The few who have apparently overcome time are greater, indeed.  
  
They are the vampires.  
  
Their birth was human, but their legacy is nothing less than demonic. They rule the night and lesser beings cower at the whispers of their name. They are fierce and cunning and irresistible. And their thirsts are insatiable.  
  
The thirst for blood.  
  
The thirst for revenge.  
  
The thirst for love.  
  
Not love in its true sense. Lust. Impassioned, evil desires, unsanctioned, unblessed, unworthy, and unclean. Humans are those usually sought out, for they are weak and easy to obtain. The very touch of a vampire is a violation to a human, and those who fall under their spell are thence forever lost to humanity.  
  
But such unions, sadly, have existed, and will continue to exist until the last vampire is gone.  
  
Thus, it is not just the vampires who cheat time. Their children do, as well. The children of the cursed and their prey.  
  
The damned, pathetic creatures called dhampires.  
  
These are the saddest and most feared of all who roam the earth. They are caught between two completely different worlds and torn asunder amidst the rages of such a life. Many are as unpredictable as they are confused, not knowing which way to turn and never deciding the way that it is expected they will. Some choose the path of their fathers, and slake the bloodlust with abandon. Some try their utmost to live the lesser status but purer life of their human parent, a few even turning violently against their blood-crazed brethren in a futile search for purpose. And the rest stand in the grey shadow betwixt the two, as dangerous to the vampires as to the humans.  
  
These two monstrous breeds do not subscribe to the same rules that bind human souls. They stretch existence and time to limitless extremes.  
  
But such disregard for rules is not, in this world of checks and balances, without retribution and consequence. Hell is the only destiny for these beings, should they be killed, and the loneliness of a life under the stigma of blood is indescribable in the mortal tongue.  
  
For even those vampires who take for themselves a mate are never satisfied for companionship. Lust soon becomes boredom and the hapless victim of a vampire's foolish desire usually becomes that same creature's fodder.  
  
Love lasts forever, but love cannot be experienced by creatures who aren't truly alive. Some humans have loved their vampire partners, but vampires can feel nothing more than a possessive attachment to anything, even to another being. They sometimes think they are in love, may even mourn the loss of their partner, but their attentions are quickly occupied elsewhere.  
  
And, while dhampires are less fickle, they, too, aren't easily capable of love, though some have fallen into it, owing to their human halves. But, as dhampires have become an extreme minority, few even realize anymore that there are others like them in existence. Those that do have fellows that share their plight are so consumed by a search for meaning and purpose in their monotonous existence that they don't expend the energy to make another dhampire love them. That task is almost insurmountable; humans are still easier to acquire. But half-breeds are so feared that precious few humans will accept them. Even in the off-chance a human falls in love with a dhampire, the fact remains that love lasts forever, but human flesh does not. Any human loved by an immortal lives for only a second in the reckoning of vampiric time, and then is gone.  
  
That is why the hell-bound lords and ladies of the night should not be envied. They cannot love, and cannot slake their passions. They cannot die, and cannot hope for heaven. They cannot stop time, and cannot submit themselves to its final destruction.  
  
Humans are constrained by the knells of the clock.  
  
Vampires can only laugh bitterly when those tones chime.  
  
Dhampires lurk in the shadows of each generation, struggling to define the meaning of time to both their conflicting halves.  
  
And then...there are the Wraiths.  
  
There are only two alive now. One man and one woman who do not die but do not own a drop of vampiric blood. Truly wraiths, they are not, but humans who have managed to rewrite the rules on time, or at least bought themselves more of it. How they succeeded in this is not known by many, and their existence, so shadowed and uncertain, has become a myth. Vampires whisper of them amongst themselves, humans murmur tales of them to their children, dhampires have been known to spend millennia seeking them out.  
  
For the Wraiths know the secrets, the rules and the loopholes, of time.  
  
And it is they, alone, who can unshackle the willing of their curse and show the damned of the earth the way to heaven.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Neither _Vampire Hunter D_ nor _The Little Vampire_ belong to me. I am making no money from this fanfiction, and all recognizable characters, events, and locations belong to their respective copyright holders. All original characters, etc. belong to ISJ, and are not to be used without my permission.

Yes, so the first chapter was boring. It gets better, promise. Thanks for reading!

Slainte!

ISJ

Chapter 2

"If you don't get a job soon, idiot, _you'll_ be out of supplies, and then where will I be? Knowing you, it's unlikely--you should have taken a left back there--that you'll do the noble and self-sacrificing thing, and cut me off before you starve or dehydrate,--_do_ you know where you're going?--thus leaving me with a snowball's chance of living to see the next century. And you know I was looking forward to it. Are you listening to me? I said, you need to find work. Just...look for a village that's infested, or something. _Somebody_'ll be willing to cough up some cash if you'll just..._where in the name of Dracula _**are**_ we_?"  
  
There was still no answer from up top, so Left Hand sniffed the air, less than delicately, and squinted his empty black eyes to try and get a better look at the surroundings. Not an easy task, with a thick leather rein-strap pressed against your face.  
  
"Let me up, I want to get a look around," he commanded croakily. For a moment, he thought his host was not going to comply, and then the man shifted and the muscles in his arm tensed as he let go the rein and upturned his palm.  
  
"Thank you." A somewhat squashed-looking face became more defined, eyes staring from the skin usually reserved for the creases of the palm. The wrinkled mouth, close to the heel of the long, pale hand, twisted in confusion as the nose-slits flared, taking in an unfamiliar scent.  
  
Dry desert stretched away into the distance, pockmarked surface shimmering in midday heat. Scraggly bushes and tough, dying grass barely relieved the rocky, scorched ground. Far away, Left Hand could just make out the unevenness in the horizon that meant a city, and farther on down the road a crumbling overpass shadowed the pale, packed earth of the old highway.  
  
Left Hand did not recognize the area, and the strange, alien tang of...something in the air gave him pause. But nothing about the landscape was unique or remarkable. Most of the world looked like this now. Left Hand could remember well the days when land such as this would be crowded with resting-houses and uneven with hundreds of little mounds that signified resting dhampires. Nightscapes would literally swarm with vampires crawling and lurking across the deserts, ravaging towns as they went, overlords spawning dozens of new brood in a single night.  
  
Now, all the moon ever revealed were deserts as silent and still and empty as this one. So few of the children of the night remained, they could not afford to run about in the open anymore. They all hid themselves, cloistered in the last remaining strongholds of their kind, difficult to find and, unfortunately for vampire-hunters, rarely venturing out to cause havoc. And, if there was no havoc, there were no job offers, and thus no money for food.  
  
While the lack of funds seemed not to bother the hunter who hosted the talking parasite, Left Hand was quite unhappy about the situation. There'd been no offer of work for nearly five years, now. It wasn't that there weren't any vampires to be destroyed; it was that the few who remained were behaving themselves. Bad news for those who depended upon vampire-mischief to make a living.  
  
The fifteen million dollar bounty upon which Left Hand's host had been living was very nearly depleted. That city in the distance could be their last ever stop for supplies, unless someone there needed a vampire hunter.  
  
"It's, what, close to one o'clock?" Left Hand asked the hunter as his prune- like face was one again forced to endure the chafing leather rein. The black cyborg horse's tack creaked and jangled faintly as the hunter clicked his tongue to move on. "You should stop beneath that overpass until the sun starts to go down."  
  
As expected, there was no reply.  
  
"Why do you think the vamps are so quiet, nowadays?" Left Hand wondered, only half to the hunter. It was a question that had been bothering him for the better part of three years, one he'd once or twice asked his host, who had known little enough himself. When no sort of answer, not even a grunt, was forthcoming, Left Hand squirmed a bit. The hunter generally answered direct questions that weren't complaints. "D?"  
  
At the sound of his name, the hunter moved slightly in the saddle, trying to settle more comfortably, but still said nothing. Left Hand grew impatient. "D, I asked you a question. At least snort at me or "hmm" or something."  
  
As sometimes confused others when they first heard of the famous vampire hunter D, the letter was not an initial. It was the only name he'd ever known. According to Left Hand, D's father had not been the one responsible for it, as he'd been satisfied enough to simply call his offspring "boy," probably as a means of keeping the child distant from himself. Left Hand had once told D that it was his mother's doing. She'd wanted to give him a name but the father wouldn't have it, so she'd compromised. The "D" could stand for any number of things, among them D's father's name or the first letter of the word dhampire, though either of these seemed unlikely to be chosen by a young human woman for her son. In this, D had long suspected his infamous father _had_ had a hand in the choosing. Few creatures were more vain than vampires, especially vampire overlords; given the chance at passing on a namesake, D guessed his father had indulged this vanity and tacked the first letter of his name onto his half-breed son.  
  
D was quite tempted to snort at Left Hand and leave it at that. He could almost swear that parasite was growing more annoying every year. But, finally, he adjusted his hat to shadow his pale, thin face and replied, "You know as much as I do."  
  
"Hmph...well, you know what I think. If I know vamps, and I do, they're up to no good."  
  
"I think we can safely assume that, parasite."  
  
"Don't get smart with me, boy. I mean, they're organizing something. Maybe mobilizing for an all-out attack on the humans; I wouldn't put it past them."  
  
"Do they have the resources?"  
  
Left Hand got the distinct impression D was quizzing him, but answered presently, "Not really. But, if they were using the Barbarois..."  
  
"Would the Barbarois stick their necks out that far?"  
  
"Okay, now I know you're just fishing. How should I know?"  
  
"You know as much as I. If you're going to ask me something about which I know no more than you do, expect me to check my opinion against yours."  
  
"Well, if I were betting, I'd say that, yeah, the Barbarois would do it, but they'd have to be bought. Big time. Maybe the vamps promised them their own continent or all the free humans they could eat, or something."  
  
"I agree."  
  
"With what, the stuff about the Barbarois, or everything else, too?"  
  
"Most of what you've said. The lords and ladies will try to overthrow human control, no question. But it is too soon for such a power bid at present. Conditions aren't right."  
  
"So what are you saying?"  
  
"I'm saying that the past five years have not been spent preparing, but recovering. They're quiet and placid in order to replenish their numbers, take stock of their assets and liabilities. The next five or ten or fifteen will see the gathering of their forces, the readying for war."  
  
"Wonderful. What...what will we do when they strike?" This was spoken more softly, more solemnly. It was a question that would be difficult, Left Hand knew, for D to answer.  
  
The hunter was silent, and Left Hand did not press him. D would not decide on that point lightly, when the time came. But since the time was not now, Left Hand accepted that D did not wish to say anything more on the subject.  
  
It would be a hard enough decision, when that day arrived...  
  
The sun broke from behind a cloud, and D squinted as the light stabbed his eyes painfully, even with the shade provided by the wide brim of his black hat. The day was growing very hot, and D could feel his airway beginning to constrict. He coughed to open it, and swallowed hard, feeling Left Hand writhing. D heard the parasite muttering vehemently about heat syndrome and decided that he had better take the advice given him and stop for the day under the overpass ahead.  
  
The cyborg horse almost seemed relieved when D dismounted, though, since it wasn't a living animal, it was unlikely it actually felt weary. D removed the worn saddle and tack and pulled a canteen from the saddlebags, letting the horse wander off to its own spot to run a systems check. The hoof joints squeaked faintly as it moved away, and D made a mental note to get some more oil when he stopped for supplies.  
  
That is, if he had the money to spare for it.  
  
He took a long draught of water from the canteen, then climbed the small rise of gravel and dirt to where the concrete of the overpass met the ground. Tossing down the saddle, he sat down, his back against it, and stretched his long legs out before him. Tipping the front of his hat to cover his eyes, he moved his long, wicked-looking sword from his back and tucked it in the crook of his arm, easily accessible if he had need of it.  
  
The gravel beneath him was uncomfortable but cool, and D felt the muscles of his throat and trachea relax as he dug his heels and hands a little deeper into the ground. He thought he heard Left Hand sigh.  
  
D's eyelids presently grew heavy, and he closed them, reminding his body to wake at sunset. He still had a lot of ground to cover before he reached that city, and, as much as he wished the parasite were just blowing hot air, he really did need to find a way to make some money, and soon. The city would be the best place to look next, and he had no desire to waste another day in getting there. Left Hand would not be happy to hear they were to travel all night.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Neither _Vampire Hunter D_ nor _The Little Vampire_ belong to me. I am making no money from this fanfiction, and all recognizable characters, events, and locations belong to their respective copyright holders. All original characters, etc. belong to ISJ, and are not to be used without my permission.

Many, many thanks to my lovely readers and reviewers. Your comments are most encouraging, and your suggestions are all taken to heart. Individual responses are at the bottom of the page, following Chapter 3. Thank you again, best to you all, and a very hearty "slainte!"

ISJ

Chapter 3

Something woke D; it was not his internal clock. Instantly on alert, he opened his eyes wide under the brim of his hat, his vampire qualities sharpening his focus, but did not move. He kept his breathing even and his muscles relaxed as he strained his ears and perception to try and discover what had startled him.

He could feel the presence of others, detect their quiet breathing and the almost imperceptible rustle of their clothes. D could tell that Left Hand had smelled them; the parasite was quivering slightly, a symptom of alarm. Left Hand's creaky voice resonated in D's head: _There are people out there...several of them; it's hard for me to tell how many._

_I know_, D thought back at the parasite.

_They smell funny. They're not human._

_Vampires?_

_No. Not Barbarois, either. They smell...familiar. Strangely familiar. I smelled that scent earlier on the wind._

_Are they a threat?_

_Hard to say...they're just...watching you. They've been there for about five minutes, but haven't made a move for you in that time._

D did not reply, but stirred his limbs as if just wakening, allowing his hand to tighten imperceptibly around his sword. He sat up, tensing the muscles of his legs in preparation for a quick jump, if it was called for. Lastly, he pushed back the brim of his hat to get a look at his guests.

Almost immediately, he was forced to squint as blood red sunlight filled his vision. He bit back a cry and tilted his head to the side, away from the crimson sunset. Lights were popping spectacularly in his field of sight. Instantly, he readied himself for an ambush, sure that the intruders had planned on his being momentarily blinded to give them a chance to strike.

But no strike came. D blinked rapidly and raised his hand to shade his eyes from the sun, turning back to stare down the rise to the handful of hunkered, dark figures that stood, crouched, and sat ranged before him. Of their features D could make nothing, save for eight or ten pairs of eyes that glinted back eerily, eye shine catching the dying sunlight like the eyes of so many cats.

_Parasite_, D thought, freezing, _are you sure they're not vampires? They have nocturnal eyes._

_They're not vamps._

For what seemed like an hour, D and the strangers sat, completely still, staring at each other. The only movement was that of the dusty wind through their clothes and of the sun slowly sinking below the western horizon.

Finally a deep, gravelly voice issued from one of the shadowed figures (which one, D could not tell), shattering the thick silence.

"Are you the one they call D?"

D did not reply. Left Hand shifted nervously, and D pressed his nails into his palm to still the creature.

"I ask again: are you the vampire hunter known as D?"

A long, tense pause, and then, "I am. Who is asking?" D clenched his hand around the hilt of his sword, openly readying himself for a fight.

The foremost black shape in front of him lifted its hands in a placating gesture. "We mean you no harm, hunter. We wish only to speak to you."

"Who are you people? Show yourselves."

The figures all turned their heads to look at one another, and then the burly shape who had been speaking to D stepped forward, out of the shadow of the overpass and into the ghastly red light of dusk.

The sun disappeared just as the man revealed himself, and D lowered his hand to get a good look at his addresser. Tall and broad and rather hairy, the man was probably younger than middle age, but his face was heavily bearded and the skin rough with old scars. His clothes were rugged and old, dirty and torn. They looked to be made of animal skins. He held no weapon, though D saw a huge curved blade sheathed at the man's hip and a bandolier that carried several knives and supported a large battle-axe between the massive shoulder blades. D realized with a hollow sort of feeling that, should this man decide, for whatever reason, to exterminate him, there would be little D could do to stop him.

But, at present, the man's stern, weathered face wore what was probably its closest approximation of pleasantness. He held his bare, empty hands out to D as proof of his vulnerability. D was hardly assured: those burly, sinewy hands could probably tear his arms off even without a weapon.

"Hunter D," the man intoned. His voice was like stone--rough and ageless and somehow wise. Its undertone of kindness _seemed_ genuine, anyway, so D loosed his grip on his sword. Marginally.

"We are wanderers who seek out others like ourselves," the strange man continued. "We are in search of a way to break our chains. We mean no injury to you; in fact, we have been looking for you for some time now. We are glad to finally have found you."

D eyed him dubiously. He disliked cryptic talk. "Who _are _you?"

The man sighed a little. "We, like you, carry a heavy curse. We seek the way to break it."

D's hand was back on his sword-hilt and the blade was beginning to glitter red just over the top of its sheath. "Foolish creatures, vampires, to sneak up on a vampire hunter under the guise of parley."

Suddenly, an iron grip seized D's arm. He whipped his head to the right and found himself staring into a pair of icy, disconcertingly pale grey eyes. A lean hand clasped his arm in a hold like a steel trap. D's eyes traveled the length of the hand and wiry arm to take in the tall young man who held him captive. The face was gaunt and deeply mysterious, emotionless. D wondered that the boy could have managed to steal up here unnoticed by him.

"I would not, hunter," the young man said, his accented voice cold and inhuman. "When we say we mean no harm, we do not lie."

"I cannot trust you," D hissed through clenched teeth, trying in vain to wrest his limb away from the man.

"You can, hunter. You must." This from the bearded man below, who stretched out his palms in petition.

"Why should I? Release me!" The first he demanded of the older man, the second he shouted at the younger.

"Let him go, Khayle."

A new voice, female, soprano and arctic. D half-turned his head to see the speaker as she slid from the shadows. The failing red light showed only a tall, thin woman, her hair bound away from her face, her form shrouded in a long cloak. She turned her face up to the young man and D could just read the lines of absolute command in her brow.

Khayle hesitated only fractionally, then released D's arm as though it were red-hot. Khayle all but scuttled backwards, turning his face down and away from the gaze of the woman.

"Hunter," the bearded man tried again, "you must listen, must trust..."

The woman interrupted him sharply. "Dragos, between your riddles and Khayle's posturing, you'll have the hunter convinced we're raving lunatics. He'll kill us all for vamps." She came to the foot of the graveled rise and stared baldly up at D. He looked back, unblinking.

"Hunter D, forgive my colleagues. Khayle is violently impulsive and Dragos unnecessarily vague at times, but we all have our faults. Even you, I'll wager. My name is Lissandra. We are not here to challenge you or give you a new group of enemies to worry about. We've sought you out because you are of our kind. Like you, I and my companions are the unhappy result of a vampire's seduction of a human."

D grew very still. He did not realize he had actually stopped breathing.

She took a step up the little hill. "We are dhampires, Hunter. We carry the curse in our veins just as you do."

"I...I did not think there were this many of yo--our number left."

"Oh, there are more than just us, Hunter; we were just lucky enough to have found you first." Lissandra cocked her head. "You did not think you were the last, surely? I would have expected better forethought from the great vampire hunter D. Your refusal to face facts has left you at a distinct disadvantage, I'm afraid. No, you aren't the last of the half-breeds, nor are you the only vampire hunter with vampiric blood flowing through your veins." She held out her hands, indicating her company in a sort of mockery of presentation.

"Here is the proof."

D was dumbstruck. In the past half-century, he'd seen so few of his own kind that he'd really believed them to be a dying class of society. In fact, he hadn't met another dhampire in the last decade. He'd really thought he was alone.

These people (madmen, they still seemed to him) had just proven him mistaken.

But just because they shared his plight did not automatically render them trustworthy, a fact this man Dragos seemed unaware of.

D clicked his long sword back into its sheath and looked back to Dragos, who was wearing a pleased expression. "So you, too, are dhampires. You still haven't given me a good reason to trust you won't slit my throat the second you get a chance."

Dragos' face was slightly hurt at D's words. Obviously, he'd hoped everyone was happy now. D resisted the urge to run the man through right then, not for any mutation of his blood but as penalty for his sheer stupidity.

Again, Lissandra stepped between her naïve leader and the hunter above. "You're right, Hunter, we haven't. Allow us to do that now.

"First of all, what are the possible reasons we could have to kill you? We could be highway robbers, except for the glaring fact that you are yet alive when a band of thieves would simply have killed you in your sleep. We might really be vampires, but then, how could we have stood out here, exposed to the sun? We might be bigoted humans..."

"You're no such thing!" cried D's Left Hand. "I _knew_ I recognized that scent from somewhere! I've grown so used to the way D smells I failed to recognize the scent of unfamiliar dhampires. In that much, at least, you're telling the truth."

Lissandra looked momentarily perplexed, and D raised his hand, palm-out, to give the others a clear view of Left Hand. Some he could see recoil in mild disgust and horror, but Lissandra only nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Ah," she continued, "a parasite. Interesting company you keep, Hunter. But it knows we do not lie about our race, in any event. Now, as fellow dhampires, why could we wish you dead? Ah, we could be sympathetic to our vampire half-brethren--"

At this, several of her shadowy company hissed menacingly, angrily. Lissandra smiled grimly.

"But, considering our...distaste for that very association which makes us what we are, a liaison between us and our monstrous forefathers is not even a remote possibility. We are a group of people who wish to have nothing to do with the vampires who bred us; we're not about to help them by slaughtering one of our own kind, the most famous vampire hunter of all time." She spread her hands. "Any other probabilities that you wish to consider, Hunter?"

D was still, his piercing gaze focused solely on the woman below him. She held that stare, unflinching, unyielding.

"If you are who and what you say you are, woman," D murmured, "then I suppose I have nothing to fear from you. But your reasoning is not without holes; you have not earned my trust yet."

"Can we expect a suspension of hostilities from you, then?"

D considered a moment. "So long as you and your 'impulsive' friends stay in line, yes."

"Is it too much to ask an alliance of you?"

"It is. I ally myself with nothing and no one."

"Except loudmouth talking parasites."

"You shut your mouth!" Left Hand retorted.

"He has more than once proven himself useful and trustworthy, two things I can attribute to none of you."

"Fair enough. Will you allow me to at least explain the nature of the alliance I suggest?"

"I'm not interested in more companions."

"Hear us out, Hunter," Dragos asked him suddenly. "We have already proven our willingness to be peaceable. Just listen to what we have to say. We have spent a great deal of time seeking you out."

"You wasted your time."

Lissandra spoke again, and her voice had cooled several degrees. "You may be able to help us, Hunter, and we believe we may be able to help you. Will you at least talk to us? If you don't like what I have to say, you and your parasite may be on your way, and you may keep on waiting for a job that isn't likely to be offered, your money dwindling as you realize just how quiet the vamps are going to be for a while."

D looked at her. There was a vague smugness surrounding her. She knew she'd won.

D sighed, then leaped nimbly off the rise of gravel, stepping resolutely over to stand before Lissandra.

The woman, D's vampire night-eyes could see, was as stunningly beautiful as an icicle could be, her eyes dark and fathomless in a face sculpted from marble. In those eyes, D saw the wisdom and pain that came of a lifetime far, far longer than her youthful looks betrayed. She was studying him, as well, noticing exactly the same phenomenon between his face and eyes. After a moment, she silently extended her hand.

D paused, then clasped that cold, pale hand in his own.

------------

lucidscreamer: Thanks so much! Characterization is always so tough, especially with a lead character such as D who cannot, in the traditional sense, carry the story through a lot of dialogue. I will admit that this story has D talking quite a bit more than he does in Bloodlust, as you can tell from this chapter, but I have tried hard not to make him gabble unneccessarily. Hope this chapter meets your expectations!

Kitala: Thank you! I look forward to hearing from you again.

Duzzel: (laugh) Many thanks for your enthusiastic comments. When you say the first chapter is like something out of a storybook, I'm glad--that's the idea I was going for. ;)

Badgerlock: (sniff) Wow. Thank you, so very, very much for your lovely review that nearly made me cry! I am so happy you were pleased overall, and your comments and suggestions about my writing style were extremely pertinent and very much appreciated. Constructive criticism is the best, and yours was so helpful! --hug-- Thank you for reading, and I truly hope I do not disappoint you with the upcoming chapters.

To all my reviewers, a thousand thank-you's for your time and consideration. Hope you've enjoyed so far, and I hope you continue to read. Slainte!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Neither _Vampire Hunter D_ nor _The Little Vampire_ belong to me. I am making no money from this fanfiction, and all recognizable characters, events, and locations belong to their respective copyright holders. All original characters, etc. belong to ISJ, and are not to be used without my permission.

Thanks, again, to everyone who's reviewed so far! And thanks, also, for your patience as I slowly release these chapters to you. If it weren't for this pesky little thing called "real life," I would have a new chapter out every day. Oh, well.

Happy reading!

Slainte!

ISJ

Chapter 4

Moonlight bathed the harsh, windy desert in ethereal shades of white as D walked alongside Lissandra. Some distance away, the rest of the newcomers milled about, setting up camp under the overpass. D watched their unhurried movements a moment as his keen ears picked up the tinny echo of their voices bouncing against the concrete walls of the overpass.

"How many of you are there?" D asked without preamble, his eyes focused straight ahead and not on his conversational companion.

Lissandra gave him a sideways glance, then returned her gaze to the ground passing beneath her feet. "A better way to phrase that question would be to ask how few of us there are. This company number eleven, including me. But there are other groups of dhampires, more than you would expect there to be. I know of a band of dhampires devoted solely to your profession who make their home in Northern Italy, and another group, a family clan, living in the Old Black Forest, besides many others. You are not nearly so alone as you believed."

D digested this information quickly, saving his shock for another time. "You mentioned it was fortunate you found me "first". I assume you mean before I was found by another of these groups."

"One group in particular, actually. While I and my friends are as far from consorting with true vampires as it is possible to be, there are others who do not look upon their vampire kin with the same revulsion that we feel. In this part of the world, the most famous--pardon, infamous--of these is a bunch of mercenaries led by a creature known only as Dread. They are dhampires only by definition; they slake the bloodlust more fiercely than many vampires do. They would have considered you, D, to be a great prize. Your sleeping head would have become a most valuable trophy had it been they, instead of we, who, how did you put it, 'sneaked up' on you."

"Why did you?"

The woman eyed him, amusement tugging at her lip. "Not much for chitchat, are you? I suppose you wouldn't be. You are your father's son."

D snapped his head toward her. "What?"

Lissandra turned to him, wearing a smirk that failed to melt her frosty countenance. "You know that your father considered a conversation garrulous if it involved an exchange of more than ten words. I was the daughter of one of his nobles, and while I often endured the presence of Lord Dracula, you and I never met." Her eyes narrowed fractionally as they darted appraisingly over the planes of his face, and the smirk softened a little. "A pity, that."

D was not even slightly in the mood for games. The mind-games of vampires, and, by extension, of some dhampires, palled extremely quickly. "You have not answered my question."

"Of course, my lord. Dragos, the leader of our group, has spent the last twenty years searching for you. He sort of collected us along the way, banding us together as a rag-tag team of wanderers who have only our curse in common. You are not an easy man to locate, I'll have you know. Going on rumors and gossip, we followed the ghosts of your path through most of Belgium and Czecho-Germany."

"But why?" D's patience was wearing thin. "I may not be superfluous in _my_ speech, but your hedging more than makes up for my deficiency."

D was satisfied to see fire flash in her eyes and blossom on her cheeks. She looked away for a moment, suppressing her ire and biting back a hasty reply. Her response was more short than before, and had acquired a thick layer of ice.

"If I said that we only sought you out in order to help you..." She let the sentence dangle expectantly.

"I would have you pinned on my sword for continuing to waste my time."

"Ah. Thought so. Well, believe it or don't, assisting you really _was_ a factor in our search. We believe we may be able to reward you abundantly for the services we shall ask you to render."

"You believe," D repeated with a small sigh of exasperation. "You weary me, woman. Speak your mind, now."

It was a command that would brook no further nonsense. Lissandra stopped in her tracks, turning to look up (some distance, even for her) at D. "Honestly, we sought you out for your notoriety. Ours is not the most well-known of this area's dhampiric assemblies. We wanted your presence to make our group more prominent."

Mystified, D asked, "To what end?"

Lissandra hesitated for a moment, a moment she spent staring straight into D's eyes as if desperately searching for something. Then she took a steadying breath, her only outward sign of any tension, and said more quietly, "Our group requires the services of the Wraiths. We have, as individuals and as a group, been seeking them for far, far longer than we have been looking for you. We hoped that by attracting the famous vampire hunter D, we might foster rumors that would attract the Keepers of the Way."

D could not believe he was hearing this. He'd wasted an hour of his time for _this_? Fairy tales, all of it; Keepers of the Way, indeed. The Wraiths were as imaginary as Santa Claus. D was being asked to ally himself with complete strangers for the sole purpose of being bait for mythological entities. He'd have more luck if he camped out next to a fireplace on the night of December four and twenty.

Lissandra must have read these thoughts in his eyes, for her own became stony. "You don't believe they exist. They do. In the space of a week, an acquaintance of mine went from pumping dhampiric blood through her veins to moving into a human village, oddly unable to recall her entire life up to that point."

"No more mad than you and your colleagues. I refuse." D immediately turned away.

Lissandra grabbed his shoulder, rather more tightly than necessary, to arrest him. "My lord hunter, you cannot tell me that in all your extensive travels, throughout your long life, you have never encountered anything that might testify to the existence of the Wraiths. I have lived as long as you have, though I have not seen the half of your experiences, and I myself have come to believe they are real."

"Your beliefs are nothing to me. Show me proof they exist, and I may reconsider your offer."

It was Lissandra's turn to be exasperated. "But that is exactly why we need you, my lord hunter! We have never seen the Wraiths, only heard and witnessed their deeds. We wanted you in this group so that we would become well-known, be whispered about by both human and vampire lips. It is the only way to draw the Wraiths to us."

"You spoke of Dragos' vagueness as if you had no part in it. Quite to the contrary, I see you are just as delusional as he. I will not lash myself to your insanity only to be dragged down by it." D pulled roughly away from her clenching hand. "I told you I wanted no other companions; you'll have to find another celebrity to be your bait."

D had only taken three steps when Lissandra's voice spoke to his retreating back. Her speech had become the coldest he'd yet heard it, and it flowed in the gently cajoling cadence that sprung from her vampire half. D knew that tone well, had used it himself to persuade particularly stubborn bounties to submit to their capture. Meant to be bewitching, though so tempered by humanity that it was only half as effective as a vampire's charm, it served well to stop him in his tracks.

"You have not heard the reward."

"I have no desire to." The bewitchment had no addling effect upon _his_ brain; he was too strong for it.

"Leave then. Take your horse and your talking tick and walk on toward that city, Lord D. Look for that job to bring in your next meal. You won't find it."

Reason, and not vampire-magic, drew D up short. She had a point, unfortunately for him. Sighing imperceptibly, D closed his eyes and waited, his back rigid with expectance.

She continued. "You and I both know the vampires have been far too quiet, lately. Your paychecks are few and far between, and growing smaller by the day. However long you can live on what money you have left, I can guarantee you it won't last as long as it will be called for."

"And accepting your offer will resolve that situation, how?"

"Dragos and the other members of our team, in forethought, have saved some money for this time we all knew was coming. Also, many of our members, the ones that aren't hunters, continue to get work in the cities and villages of this region under the guise of being humans. And, besides all that, Khayle Lee is master of the great fortune of the late Count Magnus Lee, a vampire I'm sure you'll recall. If memory serves, it was you who brought Khayle into his fortune in the first place."

D's spine stiffened further. Was there no end to this madness?

Still, the prospect was tempting. This group was a self-sufficient unit, in, admittedly, a much better financial condition than he could boast. And they needed him. He would lack for nothing in the way of supplies, and would, it seemed, have to do nothing but merely call himself a part of the group in order to partake of the blessings. Quite a catch.

But...it irritated him to have to admit he was not doing well enough on his own. And it really annoyed him to think about wandering around with this bunch of madmen, calling himself one of them. Would he also have to answer to their fearless (not to mention witless) leader, Dragos?

"I have my own money set aside," D told her flatly. "I don't need yours." Strictly speaking, it was not a lie. He did have a little bit of money hidden away in a safe place, far from here. But it was precious little, and not nearly enough to be of any real use. D cursed himself for having procrastinated when it came to setting aside funds for such an occasion as this; he'd always meant to but had constantly had enough work to convince himself to put it off.

"While I have a strong suspicion you're bluffing about that, I'll let you have that point of contention by moving on to the next benefit of our offer."

D made no reply.

Lissandra moved up behind him, very close. D could sense her, near enough to touch him.

In a low voice, she said only, "Mortality."

D drew in a sharp breath. The very thought, the very sound of that word was enough to make him burn all over, burn for sheer desire to attain that very thing all humans wished to escape. But just as soon as the sensation began, D doused it with the cold realization that the woman was speaking of her imaginary Wraiths, again. A promise of mortality was of absolutely no value when it was based on the assumption that a fairy tale was somehow true.

"I don't believe in them, remember?" he asked coldly.

Lissandra made no reply. Suddenly her voice was right in his ear, her breath actually cool against his cheek. "What if you're wrong?"

D whipped around and backed a pace to put space between the woman and himself. "It would be an obscene waste of my time. _They do not exist_."

Lissandra's eyes bored into his. "A waste of your time? Time is all you have, lord hunter. Your time's never running out. What would you lose by coming with us?"

D had no answer, no good reason not to take the deal. Fairy tales aside, the money was enough of an incentive.

And...there was always that small, unbelievable chance...that "perhaps" lurking on the outskirts of reality. What if the woman was right, and he really _was _wrong? What if this could be his chance at a real, true life? Would he really turn it down to satisfy his pride?

He knew the Wraiths were imaginary, knew it, and was not willing to accept that they might be otherwise. In that, these people hoped in vain; he refused to hope in the same. But he was not getting anywhere fast by wandering Europe, aimlessly seeking employment and burning through money far faster than he earned it. A promise of money was the most that he could ever hope for, and enough to make him put away that pride.

Besides, he could just remain a part of this group until he got another job offer, then leave, none the worse off. And, worst-case scenario, and another job did not come, these people could only wander around for so long, chasing myths, before they disbanded of their own accord and left him to himself again. Either way, this wasn't a permanent arrangement; he'd be free of this obligation within five years, he felt sure. Not that he was going to mention this to the woman.

D tried to stare her down, but for the first time in his life, he seemed to have met his match. "Nothing," he finally replied. "And so I will accept your offer."

Lissandra's eyes softened for an instant with relief, and in that split second of time D recognized just how lovely she could have been, perhaps could be, were it not for that icy manner she'd perfected. Then the moment had passed and that face was once more impassive and the only thing D could see were the harsh angles of her cheekbones and painfully straight nose, looking for all the world as if they'd been cut from ice.

"Very good. I'm glad you have decided so, lord hunter."

D suddenly frowned. "I'll retract my agreement if you don't stop calling me that. I'm no lord and proud of neither my ancestry nor my profession."

"Proud of them or not, the titles are yours by right."

D gritted his teeth but said nothing. Suddenly another voice, ancient and acerbic, answered for him.

"Oh, just call him D, woman, and come down off your high horse already! D, will you please hurry it up? You two are driving me insane with your aristocratic banter. If we're taking this job, let's get on with it."

D's frown deepened and he clenched his left fist. A gurgled sound emerged from somewhere under his fingers. "I thought I told you to stay out of this," D murmured.

"And I did, admirably, but your deal is made now so you'll not tell me I can't talk."

"You'd better not," Lissandra muttered. "The prohibition would probably kill him."

Left Hand was struck silent for the space of two heartbeats, and then called Lissandra a name so foul that D pulled a little-used black glove from his belt and immediately stifled the parasite with it.

Lissandra, however, seemed not in the least fazed. She only watched placidly as D adjusted the glove, then said simply, "I can see why you didn't want any more companions."

----------------

lucidscreamer: I'm glad you approve of D's characterization, and I'm so happy you're still pleased! Thank you for reading!

Kitala: Thank you so much! I'm working hard on having an actual, solid Plot--holds up shiny Plot--so, I hope the story will meet with your expectations. Happy reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Neither _Vampire Hunter D_ nor _The Little Vampire_ belong to me. I am making no money from this fanfiction, and all recognizable characters, events, and locations belong to their respective copyright holders. All original characters, etc. belong to ISJ, and are not to be used without my permission.

Apologies for my long absence. A two-chapter update, this time, because I've recentlybeen on an "Overcomers" writing spree. Hope you all enjoy!

Slainte!

ISJ

Chapter 5

There exists a legend among the vampires, a tale handed down for almost twenty millennia, of a small group of humans who from time immemorial had learned somehow to extend their time on earth indefinitely. There had only ever been a very few of these immortal humans, though their exact number had since faded away into obscurity, and, until recent reports of a pair, only one had ever been known to wander the earth at a time.

They were known only as the Wraiths, or the Keepers of the Way.

The "Way" to which this title referred was the means for a damned being (an irredeemable vampire or dhampire) to shed their curse and return to being (or, in the case of the half-breeds, become) human. It was believed that only the Wraiths held the keys to the gate separating eternal existence from mortality and thus were the only ones who could help those who wished to be human to, perhaps, get another chance at life and heaven.

Because of this, with time and the spread of endlessly repeated rumors and facts, the very much human Wraiths had risen to almost god-level in the view of vampiric society. Admittedly, there were differing opinions on whether these rarely-seen, earthbound deities were benevolent or malicious, mostly depending on whom you asked. Nearly all dhampires worshipped them as the closest things they had to patron gods, and many of their time-weary, repentant vampire kin had adopted this mindset. The more stubbornly arrogant lords and ladies either tried to disregard the Wraiths as petty nuisances or figments of addled imaginations, or became vengeful and paranoid toward entities they saw as a threat to their way of life.

Either way, the Wraiths were the greatest and most holy of the vampire myths, right after that of the legendary Count Dracula. Whether they were more than just myths, few could say for sure. After all, who'd ever heard of humans double-crossing time?


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Neither _Vampire Hunter D_ nor _The Little Vampire_ belong to me. I am making no money from this fanfiction, and all recognizable characters, events, and locations belong to their respective copyright holders. All original characters, etc. belong to ISJ, and are not to be used without my permission.

Told you there were two chapters, didn't I? I know. I'm as shocked as you.

Happy reading!

Slainte!

ISJ

Chapter 6

Dragos and Lissandra were arguing again. It was something one grew used to, after a while, D decided as he groomed his cyborg horse while distantly watching the goings-on. How the two of them had so far managed not to kill each other was nothing short of a miracle, and yet they had apparently been doing this for two decades and had still led their little band with much success.

D found out soon after casting his lot with theirs that these were a fairly quiet people, on the whole not by nature friendly but somewhat better company than an old horse and an older parasite. Led by Dragos, Lissandra, and two others, they functioned like a nomadic village and were collectively driven on by the single purpose which had brought them to D.

Like any village, they constituted quite a cast of characters. A strange conglomeration of professional hunters, refugees, thieves, and hobos, their attitudes toward the world around them ranged from hopeful to indifferent to downright bleak, though it seemed as though Dragos' idealistic mind-set had managed to permeate their collective conscious. While this gave them a cause and made them more or less a cohesive company, the inanity and futility of their chosen way of life irked D. Luckily, most of them were neither as naïve nor as sanguine as Dragos himself, and so D was spared a good deal of preaching and cheerfulness, so long as he avoided Dragos as much as possible.

The two who helped Dragos and Lissandra to govern the group were the ex-military Donder, a tough, solid man with muscles and military genius to spare, and shy, quiet Toiracsi Benedict, whose particular expertise, it appeared to D, was no more than her ability to keep the other three from each other's throats. Though that in itself was enough of a chore: Donder was painfully straightforward and tended to make decisions which involved unhealthy amounts of physical violence handled in a hack-and-slash manner; Lissandra had no patience whatsoever for working harder instead of smarter and much preferred a stealthy, well-planned approach to everything; and Dragos so favored a peaceful, diplomatic solution to all issues that he never agreed with either of the other two.

And, at the moment, their three respective conflicting personalities were sending their discussion about a route through northern Italy into a fever-pitched shouting match.

"I'm _well_ aware of the potential dangers, Dragos," Donder interrupted him. "_Do_ remember that I spent most of my life living just over that border." He gestured to Lissandra's roughly drawn, tattered canvas map spread before them on a boulder. "But the fact remains that this is the fastest route through the Alps and our destination lies on the other side."

Lissandra shook her head at Donder. "The Gorge is only the fastest way when it is clear of obstacles, and it has not been so for over a century. In the time it would take us to wade through the vamps and beasts infesting the Gorge, we could take the old tunnel twice over."

Dragos shook his shaggy head. "The tunnel collapsed last month," he said, sounding weary of the argument. "Though you're right about the Gorge; it's far too dangerous. We'll have to take the mountain trails."

Both Lissandra and Donder goggled at him. "You must be joking," Lissandra said incredulously. "That could take us days, weeks at this time of the year. No, if the tunnel is no longer available--why didn't you tell me about that, anyway?--we'll just have to go Donder's way. I don't like it, but we have no other options."

Donder nodded. "That was my thinking. The Gorge shouldn't be a problem for us; after all--" Here he shot a look over his shoulder at D, a look the hunter did not miss. "We are a strong group."

Dragos looked stubborn. "I refuse to do it. I won't put us in that kind of danger, and I won't endanger anyone we might meet along the way."

Lissandra glared as Donder heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Dragos," Lissandra began, speaking slowly as if her colleague were partially deaf. "I don't like this path because it is a waste of our valuable time, but you are being completely daft about this."

"I will not do it."

"Since when have rabble vamps and werewolves been problems for us?" she demanded, pounding her fist onto the rock beneath the map; D thought he heard a cracking sound at the impact and somehow doubted it was the bones of Lissandra's hand. "And as for endangering others, there _aren't_ any humans or dhampires still living there, you know that. They're all animals and creatures. Unless you have a problem with killing vampires, now, or did you just forget that killing them is what we _do_ for a living?"

"Are you _patronizing _me, woman?"

D turned his head toward the four leaders hunched around the map. The tone of Dragos' normally sage, calm voice had dropped precipitously, coming from his drawn lips in a cold murmur. The big man's slightly elongated canine teeth gleamed. D had known Dragos was getting annoyed, but the hunter had never heard the man's voice so menacing before; apparently, from Donder's and Toiracsi's reactions, it wasn't a good sign. The ex-military man rubbed distractedly at his temples, a vampiric hiss echoing in his throat—also not good: D had learned quickly that Donder's ancestral temper was remarkably short and not to be toyed with. Toiracsi, who'd not said a thing this whole time, only shifted her weight back and forth nervously, wringing her hands and casting quick, worried looks from Lissandra to Dragos.

Lissandra straightened slightly, staring at Dragos. D could almost see the air between the two charge with electricity. He could tell even from this distance that Lissandra's gaze was deadly cold. When she opened her mouth to speak, her voice was infinitely soft and unnaturally deep, and her long hair and clothes seemed to shift as with an icy breeze.

"You forget to whom you speak."

D's brows drew together in a troubled tangle. Lissandra was beginning to display a very vampiric quality—it was one thing to add dhampire-charm to one's voice, quite another to be able to layer that voice as vampires did. Her tones were approaching the dual-layered voice of command that made vampires so powerful; it was a trait that only those dhampires with exceptional parentage had ever been known to possess. D himself possessed it (though he never used it), but as he was the direct descendant of the greatest vampire who'd never lived, that was little surprise. D wondered fleetingly who Lissandra's vampire kin was or had been even as he came a few paces away from his horse and toward the leaders, tensing himself in preparation for trouble.

But the combined force of her excruciating eyes and her bone-chilling voice seemed too much for Dragos, and he paled, shrinking back and looking abashed. At the same moment, Lissandra also diminished, becoming less threatening than her voice had made her, the paranormal movement of wind around her stilling.

"Forgive me," Dragos muttered, inclining his head in a sort of bow. D saw Donder and Toiracsi visibly relax, and decided now was as good a time as any to get their conversation back on track. He knew from experience that these meetings among the four of them could digress and last for hours longer than necessary.

The hunter stepped toward them, making them all look up. "Have you decided upon our route?"

Dragos shot a look at Lissandra, who, oddly enough, tipped her head in concession, effectively leaving the decision up to him. D was very confused; why had she made such a fuss over Dragos' disapprobation of her choice just to put that choice in his hands? He resisted the urge to scowl daggers at her, instead watching Dragos' expression carefully. The man stared at the ground for a long silent moment, then raised his head and said, "We'll be traveling through the Adrietti Pass in Northern Italy. We set out in the morning."

D's eyebrow lifted half a centimeter, but even that tiny movement was enough to make the others watch him warily to see if he would reject the decision.

"How were you actually planning on handling those 'obstacles' she mentioned?" He glanced over at Lissandra, flicked his gaze back to Dragos. "I'm not quite sure I share your optimism on your ability to handle the threat. The Adrietti Pass is not called Bloodrain Gorge for nothing," he stated in calm monotone.

Dragos looked at him impassively for a second, then, exchanging a look with Donder, gave the hunter a grin (something he did with irritating frequency) and walked right past him, saying, "You're not called the greatest hunter who ever lived for nothing, either. Between you and the other hunters, we'll have no problem with the Gorge."

D was not surprised; he'd suspected as much. He also did not find the decision as amusing as Dragos did, though Donder and Toirasci seemed unaware of this and only followed after their friend, looking pleased and relieved. They were just glad the argument was over

Lissandra loitered still, rolling up her old map with deliberate care. She eyed D, who stood, arms crossed and head lowered, brooding.

"You could have told him no," she said.

"And spent another hour arguing the point? Hardly. I suppose I must earn my keep in this company somehow."

Lissandra's expression was unreadable. "You wouldn't have found it difficult to persuade Dragos."

D went slightly stiff. "I'm not interested in your methods of persuasion, Lissandra."

The corner of Lissandra's mouth quirked but she said nothing. When the silence grew tense, D drew his cloak a little closer about him.

"You're of noble blood," he said flatly. "Who was your vampire parent?"

Lissandra's visage grew very stormy. "I don't believe you have the right to ask me that."

"What bars me that right?"

"My blood is as good as yours, and my years as many. And don't even try pulling rank; I am, technically, your professional superior and no less than your societal equal."

"My father would not agree."

Lissandra opened her mouth to lash back, but D raised one lean palm to halt her. "Fortunately for you, I never did subscribe to my father's beliefs."

The woman's face eased into a frosty smile, hardly preferable to her scowl. "That would explain your distaste for the voice of command. It also explains something else."

D could not help himself--the look in Lissandra's eye spoke of dangerous mischief. "And what is that?"

"Why you're letting yourself become one of our group when Count Dracula would never have given people like us a second thought."

D dropped his eyebrows in puzzlement, and Lissandra's smile thawed slightly as she came up beside him and tugged the brim of his hat down a degree. "Oh, you may not realize yet that you are, but it's more than obvious. For three weeks, I have been nothing more or less than 'woman' to you." She barely brushed her cold fingertips over the curve of his jaw, making his skin tingle, before dropping her hand to her side and tucking the map under her arm. "But you just called me Lissandra."


	7. Chapter 7

D spent the next few days of travel cursing that slip-up. He'd been calling her 'woman' intentionally, for the same purpose of distancing himself from her as caused him to address Donder and Dragos only as 'you': he no more wanted to be a 'part' of their group than he wanted to join a circus (most days, the latter seemed the more sane of the two). Calling her by name was just another indicator that he'd been talking to her too much, had grown too familiar, a fact he daily tried to ignore.

It wasn't really like him, which was the most disturbing aspect of it. He had never before desired to have frequent, or even occasional, conversations with another person. And, in fact, that taciturnity was what had forced him to speak to Lissandra in the first place. She was the only one of the leaders who seemed a logical choice if he had to deal with one of them--Dragos, obviously, was out of the question, as D had no patience for him, and neither Donder nor Toirasci had the authority of the other two and answered to one of them anyway.

But, somehow, that simple once-in-a-while briefing with her became more and more frequent and started involving long, drawn out tête-à-tête. Whether she sought him out or if it were the other way around, it seemed not a day went by when the two of them did not manage to have some sort of talk or debate, usually ending with D fuming in Lissandra's triumphant wake.

Even now, while they were traveling across barren country, heading for the Adrietti Pass, they would end up riding their horses side-by-side, Lissandra goading him into a cyclical discussion (she was expert at this), or sitting her saddle quietly as she waited for him to speak (and he always would), or even talking to Left Hand. The parasite found this confusing, even annoying, but as the days wore on became, it seemed, more and more attached to the only other being capable of matching his sharp tongue. D did not understand her patience when it came to the dour parasite's incessant banter and pointless ranting, and occasionally would pull on his left glove right in the middle of one of their conversations just to quiet them both. Otherwise, their strange woman-to-hand exchanges could carry on from sunup to sundown.

But, whenever D could get a word in edgewise around his garrulous freeloader, he found Lissandra's icy mien did not compel her totally to silence or terse dialogue. She had an uncanny ability to strike his interest in sometimes completely uninteresting topics, though there were far more interesting ones that they covered as well. Speaking with her was, D thought, a lot like speaking with himself, her opinions and character very like his own. She was more prone to bitterness than he, and he not as capable of expressing his thoughts in words, owing to centuries of isolation from any companion other than Left Hand, but mostly their thoughts seemed always to flow in the same way and at the same speed.

And so, strangely enough, D found himself growing used to another person's continuous presence, something he thought would never happen to him.

Though he was very careful always to call her 'woman' from then on. And, he noticed, she'd gone back to calling him 'lord.'

Good enough.

------------

Though not so, apparently, for Left Hand. The parasite was becoming, frankly, intolerable of late. Admittedly, not much different from his usual state of being, but his intentional prodding of his host now centered on a slightly more bothersome subject.

One night, about a day's travel from the mouth of the Adrietti Pass, D lay on the hard, cold ground, unable to sleep, when Left Hand's raspy voice suddenly broke his brooding silence.

"Something bothering you, D?"

The hunter did not reply.

"Ahhh…something's wrong. I can always tell with you."

D closed his eyes resolutely and forced his mind blank so that the parasite could not see that he'd been mulling over that day's conversation with Lissandra.

"It's the woman, isn't it?"

D kept his face still, though he gritted his teeth in perturbation.

"I knew it! What is with you two, anyway?"

"Why do you insist upon dragging up this pointless theory? I've told you, there is nothing "with" us. I talk to her because she is my superior and the only other member of this team worth talking to."

D felt the parasite writhe and force his hand, which lay across his chest, up a fraction to eye the hunter's impassive visage. Too late, D realized what he'd said.

"_Other_ member! Now _we're_ a member, are we?"

D flattened his palm back out, muffling Left Hand's mutterings, and for a moment, D thought he'd won, but then the old, croaking tones were echoing in his head.

_What next, going to _marry_ into the family? Can't possibly waste any more time that way than you do with her already..._

_Parasite, I have told you countless times to leave this alone and leave me be. You are seeing a bond where none exists._

_Then why are you still awake?_

Silence for a long instant. Then, D thought simply _I was only thinking about the things the woman told me today, about the rogue Barbarois in the Adrietti Pass._

_I didn't hear her say anything about rogue Barbarois! You're lying._

_I am not. You can ask her yourself. Several pockets of them, certainly, and rumors of an entire Barbarois village somewhere near the other end of the Gorge._

_A...a whole village of those nasty, bloodthirsty...violent..._

And the parasite apparently had nothing else to say, for he fell abruptly mute, leaving D to his thoughts and, eventually, to the velvet black of sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Pardon for the lack of disclaimer last chapter. I was in a hurry to get it uploaded. Neither _Vampire Hunter D_ nor _The Little Vampire_ belong to me. I am making no money from this fanfiction, and all recognizable characters, events, and locations belong to their respective copyright holders. All original characters, etc. belong to ISJ, and are not to be used without my permission.

Happy reading!

ISJ

Chapter 8

The Adrietti Pass was a long, treacherous gorge-like valley torn eons ago between two mountains in the Alps. Nearly constantly icy and in places crumbling away over sheer mountainside, the Pass was a death trap but the fastest way for travelers to make their way across northern Italy. The alternative was a long and winding course either north into the Balkan Wasteland or very far south, through the heart of werewolf territory.

Faster the Pass may have been, but the local infestation of dangerous creatures and rabble vampires had long ago earned the Adrietti Pass the nickname Bloodrain Gorge. The old highway had fallen into deep disrepair, for few who entered the Pass ever made it back out alive. Wolves and their hideous werewolf half-cousins prowled the lower regions that remained unoccupied by vamps and Barbarois, and nameless, unspeakable beasts guarded the upper peaks.

It was into this fray that only the bravest, maddest, or most desperate of people flung themselves. Dangers lurked in the Gorge that none but their victims ever knew. And one of these dangers was on the lookout for Dragos and his gang.

Sharp dhampire eyes watched the mouth of the Gorge in impatient silence, waiting. Their owners were tired of waiting, itching for action, fingering their weapons in gleeful anticipation of a bloodbath. Little had been spoken for the past three days; silence was preserved, for stealth was of utmost concern. Surprise was a vital element to this ambush, though most of those watching and waiting did not know why it was so important. They knew they could take out those do-good traitors without breaking a sweat.

Their leader was not so sure. He'd known Dragos and Lissandra long enough to have learned not to underestimate them, had been beaten by them enough times that he knew to be cautious. This was the chance for which he'd been waiting for years, and he was not about to blow it now by taking unnecessary risks.

So he'd made sure his men were in place long before Dragos' team would arrive, he'd prohibited all noise except that which was absolutely required, and he'd ensured their victory over every eventuality he could come up with. He had carefully considered all of Lissandra's favorite tricks, all of Donder's military expertise, even taken into account the added skills of the team's new hunter, the famous vampire-killer, D. When he'd received the report from his spies on that traitor's having joined up with Dragos, he'd quickly had to compensate for the extra strength that now weighed against him. It had not been easy, even though his men were the best warriors in the world, and he'd had to recruit some extra muscle just to make sure.

But now, all was ready, and Dread, leader of Europe's fiercest band of bloodthirsty dhampires, was more than ready to have his revenge.

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The two towering peaks marking the mouth of the Adrietti Pass loomed over the knot of wandering dhampires as they trudged along the old highway into the Gorge. The mountains' shadows fell over them like a deadly pall, stifling all conversation and killing any thought of anything besides imminent danger. Even Left Hand had mustered the decency to be silent, and D slumped slightly in the saddle, his eyes narrowed as they watched for unfriendly movement.

Up ahead, Lissandra sat her horse rigidly, her body tensed and ready for a fight, her hands clenching and unclenching the reins. Toiracsi, who did not know how to ride a horse, clung pathetically to Donder's shirt as she sat limply in the saddle behind the man, whimpering slightly and casting nervous glances side-to-side. Donder looked about constantly, his right hand always on the machete at his hip. Even the horses were nervous, champing their bits as their sensors detected lurking presences just outside their fields of vision.

Only Dragos, it seemed, was unaffected by the lingering threat that charged the air. Apparently, he could not be bothered to be on alert; he sat his horse comfortably, taking in the snowy landscape as if he were sightseeing and murmuring comfortingly to his mount when the cyborg nickered worriedly. His scarred face was untroubled and D saw that he was unprepared for a sudden attack, sitting in such a way that he inadvertently pinned his sword and battle-axe behind him.

D had been watching Dragos for an hour now, as had Lissandra, who had once sidled her horse up to the man and whispered something in his ear. Dragos had just laughed a little and waved the woman off, returning to his unconcerned survey of the area.

Lissandra now looked quite beside herself, shooting death-glares at Dragos every now and again and glancing back to D occasionally as if to say, _What _does_ he think he's playing at?_

D had no idea and though it extremely foolish for Dragos to be so lax in his observation and readiness. But, as everyone else in the company apparently realized the danger and were prepared for the worst, D decided it was not worth arguing with Dragos over; if they were attacked and the man got himself killed, that was his problem.

The wind kicked up and blew gusts of old snow across their path, the cold biting any exposed skin. D tugged up the scarves about his neck, protecting his pallid face and leaving only his sharp eyes uncovered. He saw Lissandra hunker in her cloak and shift uncomfortably, watching the high peaks carefully. The wind began to shiver as it carried more than just snow: the eerie, blood-curdling cries of wolves descended upon the dhampires' keen ears and spooked the horses badly. Donder's and Toiracsi's mount nearly bolted, whinnying in terror and half-rearing before Donder could get the beast back under control.

As the wind started to die again, the silence that fell seemed somehow more tense than before and far more horrible than the wolf-howls. At least the calls of wolves gave away the animals' positions; now there was nothing to reveal where the creatures might be.

Suddenly, Dragos halted his horse, stopping dead and absolutely still right in the middle of the highway. The man, for all his former ease, was now sitting straight up, completely motionless. The rest of the company drew up abruptly, and soon the only sound to be heard was the distant mournful whistle of wind in the mountain peaks.

For a few tense seconds, no one dared move, and Dragos remained stiff and on alert. Presently, Lissandra broke the silence, saying in a voice barely above a whisper, "What is it, Dragos?"

The leader did not respond, and D stretched his senses as far as he could to try to pick up the danger Dragos must have perceived. Just on the outskirts of his awareness, he could feel a niggling dread gnawing into his consciousness. But it was very difficult for the hunter to discern whether this were a close and present threat or simply the atmosphere of the deadly Gorge getting to him.

Lissandra seemed to think the situation was under control, though she did not raise her voice at all from its previous level. "Dragos, I can feel nothing." She glanced back at D, who shook his head fractionally. The woman turned back to her colleague. "What do you sense? There is nothing here."

D carefully watched the high, rocky mountain outcroppings above the highway. It was a perfect terrain for hiding; with all those loose boulders and darkened recesses in the stone, any number of bandits or worse could easily conceal themselves. And up ahead, the roadway narrowed into a natural bottle-neck. If their group were to be assailed from the back, they could be driven onto waiting weapons ahead without offering much of a challenge at all.

Luckily (or, D suddenly thought, perhaps luck had nothing to do with it), Dragos had stopped in a slightly raised portion of the road, so that any enemies coming from either behind or before would be forced to fight uphill. It was, D realized, the most advantageous position available to them here, in the event of an ambush.

The hunter wondered if it was actual danger or just precaution that had made Dragos stop here.

That question was answered a second later, when Dragos lifted his gruff voice, deep and calm but edged with steel, and said flatly, "Whoever is lurking above us, you may show yourselves. If you mean us no harm, we shall leave you in peace. If you mean otherwise, meet us like civilized warriors and cease your cowardly hiding."


End file.
